Ambivalence Trumps Antipathy

One of the first things my wife said to me this morning was, "Did you ask me something last night, or was I dreaming?" Okay, so I need to talk to her when she's alert. I mean, her eyes were open! How's one to know?

Anyway, her response to the invitation was about the same in her wakefulness: not sure. She has had a headache for two days, and the kids going back to school has her very stressed, so she'd rather not just now. But again, not a knee-jerk refusal. I think she realizes that this is important to me and a reasonable request. Meeting my friends scares her a little. That's one reason that I was pushing this. It was to be only four folks she hasn't met, one of whom is a natal woman. I was prepared to sacrifice a rare dressing opportunity, as getting them together would do far more for our emotional well-being.

My thinking is that, rather than a stressful situation, meeting my amigas will ultimately relieve her stress. Not knowing my friends makes her worry about their influence on me. Discovering that they aren't a malevolent force should help her rest easy. It's all about building trust. Knowing the parties involved is a big part of that.

All of this has become a moot point, as the plans aren't coming together. I'll likely stay home with the family, and try to figure out some other outlet for some Leslie time.

True story: When describing her headache to me today, Mrs. Leslie spontaneously broke into the chorus of Bang Bang (She Shot Me Down). I had to stifle my laughter. She doesn't read my blog, and the humor would've been lost on her. Yes, we've been together a very long time.

Doing Something Right

Depending on the answer to the question I asked my wife, the alternate title was Bang Bang (She Shot Me Down). Glad that one can be saved for another time.

It was a speculative question, really. My friend Sylvia sent an email last weekend saying that she was considering a gathering at her home this Saturday. Now, I missed my January meeting and I have another engagement during the February meeting, so any serious Leslie time would be a good thing. It's going to be a full three months between support meetings. "I canna do it, Cap'n. She won't take much more." I'm in a good place right now, but by the beginning of April, who knows?

So, when I got home from work, I mentioned Sylvia's get-together. I said that I thought I might go, or perhaps we might go. "Hmm, I don't know." Given the tenor of previous conversations on the subject, this sounds promising. Really. I didn't get the knee-jerk no that I half-expected.

I do believe that Mrs. L trusts me a little more now, but I am convinced that one thing holding her back is not knowing my closest friends. They are wonderful people who have my back. What's not to like? I wouldn't hang with catty divas or PVC-wearing fetishers. My tres amigas are warm, kind, supportive, smart and funny, just like me(!).

Even if the plans have not come together, I feel like there's a real possibility that she'll be willing to consort with them in the near future. Those of you who have been following me for the full two years probably thought this day would never come. I wondered too.

Breathing Rarified Air

The poll is going better than I ever expected, in particular the level of participation. I need to thank Petra for telling Staci, and thank Staci for featuring the poll in a blog entry. I have spent an hour crunching numbers in amazement, not regarding the poll, but rather the staggering (for me) traffic that has been generated.

I've written about Google Analytics before. The data fascinates me. My numbers for January 12th have trumped everything that has gone before. I've been tracking for seven months now, recording almost 9,000 visits and 3,700 visitors. Tuesday was unprecedented. I'm fully aware that a large number of these folks won't come back again, but I've added a few followers and gotten first-time comments from many. I have bunches of observations about the data, but I know that eyes are glazing over, so I'll move on.

I'm enjoying the anecdotes, and the detailed variations in handedness. Even the right-handers seem to do major things with their left hands. I claim lefthandedness, but I secretly believe that I am ambidexterous. Writing and throwing are the only activities exclusive to my left hand. I eat with both, bowl with both, bat right, golf right. Indecision seems to be a theme for me.

The happiest news about all the traffic that has crossed my threshold is that the poll might get enough votes to approach statistical significance. I had hoped to reach 50 votes, a number that should easily be tripled now. If you haven't voted, by all means do so. Everyone should be able to pigeonhole themselves into one of the categories. Analysis(?) of the results should be online Monday morning.

The Left Hand of Dorkness

I started grade school in 1970. My first-grade teacher was in her last year before retirement. She was old school, figuratively and literally. Relevance, please, Leslie?

It was commonplace decades ago to discourage lefthandedness. I like to think that it was a dying trend when I entered the school system, but my elderly teacher got me caught up in it. She was very uncomfortable allowing me to write with my left hand. I have some ambidexterous leanings and she righteously pushed me toward rightness. She had me sit at a right-handed desk and actively discouraged me from using my left hand. Fortunately for me, both of my parents favor their left hands, and they pushed back, insisting that I be allowed to sit at a desk more welcoming to being left-handed. They told her to stop fighting my nature, that there's nothing inherently wrong with being left-handed. As a result, I write with my left hand.

As it turned out, I was bucking tradition in another area. My struggles with my gender of birth have yet to be sorted out, but I have people in my life who are actively pushing me to conform to the majority. She will go unnamed here. *wink* That's a little unfair, actually. At the moment, we are having a pleasantly quiet period, talking easily and freely about things that had us both bottled up not long ago. The point I'm making is that my true nature in this regard is receiving undue influence from places outside my own head, much as my first grade teacher imposed her beliefs on me all those years ago. It can't be helped, as we don't live in a vacuum. There is little that we do that isn't influenced by outside forces.

I have worked for many years in a small industry, doing a job that is quite specialized and novel. I don't discuss it here, as it would make me much more identifiable. I have noted over the years a disproportionate number of left-handers doing jobs in my field. I recently noticed the same among some of my TG friends. This left me wondering if there is also disproportionate lefthandedness among the transgendered. Our brains are wired very differently than most, and it occurred to me that this might be reflected in the hand that is dominant.

I am pretty certain that anyone visiting this blog is likely to feel that they exist outside some norm of society. I'd like all of you to take a moment to respond to a simple poll to see if there is more than the standard 10% lefthandedness in our quirky little demographic. It's over there in the right-hand margin. I'll discuss the results in a week.

Acme

Despite opting not to do any kind of year's end piece, I have decided to post a pic from perhaps the happiest day I had in 2009, at least from a gender standpoint.

I recounted this memorable evening in an entry appropriately titled Blissed Out. It was only my second time out in the public eye, a full sixteen months after the first. No one can accuse me of getting around.

I had a few shots to choose from, but settled for this one, from the steady hand and keen eye of my friend Lisa. All are up on my Flickr, for you lucky few with access.

A New Outlook?

The last couple of days have brought fresh surprises from Mrs. Leslie. Good ones, for a change.

Back to Kohl's again, the day after the previous shopping trip. She was looking for jeans for herself. While she tried on many different pairs, I browsed the women's department. Kinda picked over, as the New Year's sale had started that morning. I also played handmaiden to her, running off to get styles in different sizes. I have a newfound confidence in the women's racks. Very heady.

We looked around together after that, and she suggested I go do some shopping for myself. She asked if I still wanted to buy earrings. Sure, I said. She left me to my own devices. I bought a pair, and on the way home, she asked if she could see what I got. Yeah, I guess, but you won't like them. Why wouldn't I, she asked, with a little mock indignity. She had no complaints.

Today, we went by Bath & Body Works to stock up on hand soap and sundries before their big clearance ended. In addition to hand soap, Mrs. L was suggesting shower gels and body lotions and hand lotions, some for herself, but mostly asking which ones I would like. We wound up spending nearly a C-note there, much of it smelly stuff for me.

I'm not really sure what to make of all this. Is it a sea change based on my breakdown on New Year's Eve? Or just a temporary lightening of the rules?

She got her birthday gifts today, and she was very surprised that I bought her earrings, nice earrings, not the costume stuff. Diamond and garnet (her birthstone). She was not expecting anything of the sort, but liked them very much.

So, maybe we're both reaching out to mend fences. That's a good way to start the new year.

Mushaboom

Bucking tonight's trend, I am not going to write about the New Year or the past year or the past decade. Here, we'll talk about today. I'll do my best to be brief.

We finally got around to gift returns and exchanges, plus we had $60 of "Kohl's Cash" that had to be spent before it expired. Mrs. Leslie wanted to exchange a couple of her gifts from me (size issues), plus she's been shopping for clip earrings for my 14-year-old. We scoured the clearance racks, and I felt like an old pro. I was looking at stuff with an eye for both of us. There are definitely some things I'd like to check out. At one point, I expressed an interest in spending some of the Kohl's Cash on myself. Why I had to hint at this, I don't know. A surprised reaction, but only a question about what I wanted to get. She knows. She can see me handling these garments. My pupils must be huge staring at them.

We moved on to the earrings. We found a lot of cool Trefari clip-ons. She selected three for our daughter, then went off to exchange her father's pants. I stayed awhile in jewelry, then caught up. We wound up spending all our Kohl's Cash, and I was seriously disappointed. On the way home, she asked what kind of plans were being made for her birthday. I exploded, revisiting the resentment I have about my crappy birthday. After we got home, we managed to talk about it. I told her about my therapy session, and connected I feel right now. That I feel like I can maintain my current position on the gender spectrum. That I have been letting my leg hair grow for the last two weeks unabated. She told me that when I caught up with her in men's wear, she fully expected me to have a pair of earrings in hand, saying that I wished to purchase them. She said she wouldn't have had a problem with that. I wish she could have said it then. I'm so accustomed to being shot down that i don't even try anymore. I need an invitation. She still has no interest in shopping for me, but she says it's because she just generally hates to shop. Maybe the landscape is beginning to shift a little.

A typical New Year's Eve for us consists of some alcoholic drinks, homemade artichoke and spinach dip, and some rented movies. This year was no different. We watched (500) Days of Summer, which I have to say was near perfect. Zooey Deschanel is radiant. I started getting weepy toward the end, then I got up to read the tiny credits, while Mrs. L took some dishes upstairs. I especially wanted to see the music credits. One featured song was "Mushaboom" by Feist. She is a favorite of mine. She goes by Feist, but has a first name for writing credits: Leslie. I had forgotten that, and seeing it pushed me over the edge. The movie has such a sense of love lost, and then I'm reminded of what I've lost or stand to lose. When my wife came back downstairs, I had started crying.

We sat down together, and I shuddered and sobbed for a solid twenty minutes. I told her how much I love her, how I feel like I've tortured her the last two years. I said that I'm trying to be true to myself and be true to her, and finding the narrow strip where they meet is very hard. I talked about living for today, how I don't want to die knowing that I never lived in the way I wanted to. She held me tight through all this, while I soaked her sweater. When I had finished, she joked that this wasn't the activity that she had in mind when the film ended. Soon thereafter, we indulged in her plans. I'll just give you a broad, knowing wink, and let you figure out what that was.

That is as brief as I could make my tale. I started the new decade by emptying my heart and tear ducts on my partner. It's needed to be done for a long time. I'm glad I found a catalyst.